Three degrees of Relevance
by Lil' Monk
Summary: Crone. Mother. Maiden. From one man's reactions to strangers, his psyche may be better understood through the eyes of neutrality. Possible pathways to perdition hinge upon encountering one Uchiha's mentality...Itachi. FIN
1. Random Muses

**Disclaimer**: Naruto is copyrighted to Kishimoto Masashi. I only own this fanfic.

**A/N**: Double meanings, contradictions and vagueness littered throughout this piece, which is an experiment of insight into the complex workings of Uchiha Itachi's mind. How nothing can mean something. Defeat can be synonymous with victory. I'm no expert on sharks, but I'm quite sure they are not playful…

Anything in Italics means primary, conclusive thoughts.

Koto: Japanese zither

0o-Thanks, Suke-san, for the concrit and a fruitful discussion, resulting in this improved version.:D -o0

**Random Muses**

Sentimentality is a thing he would never have surmised of his partner.

One of the Seven Legendary Swordsmen would only take off arms and legs of a last relative, instead of swatting the female out of existence. Bored after watching Samehada mow off the second limb of a twitching thing, restless spirit induces him to go for a little stroll. Kisame will catch up later when he is done.

Concentrated damp winds around dingy buildings and attempts to contaminate his clothing, save for its useful thickness that kept out the chill. Peopled places are more tolerable at times like this.

Quiet.

Peaceful.

Like the gray tendrils that meander into his privacy, so does the miserable mewl of… a squalling cat?

Another night that bleeds into the folds of many only brings on another one of several colorless moods. Hence he follows the trail marked out by alert ears, lightly trodden zori easily mistaken for sleepless wind if there were any passers-by. Breathing in leftover pollution of human life speeds up the walk. At this rate, he'll be leaving the village faster than anticipated.

_Sharks like toying too much with food._

Nearing the location of this disturbance, moving feet stop. A hill squats like a rounded stump. There is a hazy being at the top, too short and wide along with another structure that points up towards cloudy shadows.

Caution girds his approach. Ascending gently sloping firmness to reach the top, he finds the animal.

An old woman in a nondescript kimono resembling reddish clay and is belted with a neutral-shaded obi sits cross-legged, on short grass cropped close to the scalp of earth. Braced before her knees is an instrument that never fails to remind him of a dual-handed woodcutters' saw. Rectangular, elongated... the well-shaped plank of wood is gated with thin strings, but is not as fine as snowy hairs coating the skull of a shriveled bag of bones.

Listening to the caterwauling wail of a worn koto, irritation is lessened by the sight of the object they face.

Sleek lines determine planed fluidity of this miniature version of a crystalline menhir. Inner walls seem to ripple due to constant ebb and flow of black kanji against an outer covering of flawless translucency. A similar tetrahedral obelisk tops this shimmering, fascinating man-sized object seated in an octagonal pool of shallow water.

"Young man, don't stand anywhere behind my shoulder when I play. It's uncomfortable."

Considering that he is maintaining at least one body-length diagonally away from the old hag, she is absurd. The tune has changed, along with the sentiment.

Having no experience or interest in music, nevertheless he can gauge some facts the way he dissects opponents. Any possible high-pitched youth in that voice is gone; only training and experience maintaining smooth words flowing in song that is not old nor young, male nor female. Her singing is not outstanding, more like one of many faces you see in an everyday crowd melting into a blurry mess. Perhaps it is this… ability to blend in that makes it all stand out in some indefinable way.

Understated melancholia sails through languid air, buoying him along as dark pupils gaze blankly at infinite names carved perpetually into motion.

No threat.

Advancing by three even paces, nearer the marvel but further from the other human, he relaxes in unspoken coolness. It's mutual. No questions asked. No answers volunteered. To enjoy the mood and moment of this respite, very few will understand.

It's a safe bet that Sasuke won't.

Thin lips slacken. He's seen so much; accomplished so many things. The one thing that sparks any life into that weary soul is the anticipated excitement, the challenge of facing a reflection of his infamous potential. The piercing thought makes steely insides quiver with icy glee.

Ah, quivering like wizened old fingers plucking with well-practiced ease at powdery lines.

That weakling has run off to Orochimaru, the sannin whom he knows fears him. Their warm-up duel in Akatsuki established this irrevocable truth. Much good may it do that one, he will need all the help he can get.

But if that one possesses his adolescent body before the younger Uchiha reaches the crucial level, Sasuke can forget about the Mangekyou Sharingan.

The avenger will be as good as dead.

For that student of the third Hokage is a loner as well.

Best friends have no place in the quest for the ultimate echelon of Perfection.

_Hm._

Immaculate hands resting on the front of barely creased pants under inky cloth, an impassive face turns towards the elderly woman with cloudy pupils. Blind. That doesn't hinder her control of rhythm and melody, conveying the appropriate amount of emotion along with sufficient masking. Fathomless depth is concealed beneath. Such individuals are to be appreciated.

Overly tanned and wrinkled visage evinces no interest or attempts at getting to know or understand the black-clad stranger, except in maintaining her cocoon of stability and distant self-contentment.

Something akin to pleasure bleaches a combat-hardened spine, inspiring whimsy that is contradictory to a solitary nature. His character detests being pestered, but now he wants to affect this one.

Untouched. Not like the puppet of a little brother.

_Bother leaves me displeased. Indifference renders me annoyed. A person who inspires paradoxes, interesting…_

Thus he stings.

"Why do this?"

Two fingers pluck strongly around the middle string but leave it untouched. Ceasing to sing but ensuring the lilting atmosphere lingers on, she speaks simply.

"This cenotaph remembers my friends. So I pay tribute to the uselessness of memories. Mercy only degrades one to the pits of withering and dying away into a worthless husk."

She has hit the nail on the head, bringing out a hidden recess of truth.

With hardly anything that is worthy of his focus, having scaled the peaks of utmost talent, it all leaves one wanting. And that causes mindlessly raw, consuming restlessness to coil inwardly around himself, thus creating a vortex that sucks everything in until eventually, there is nothing left. Eventually, it will collapse upon itself and inspire bottomless despair. There will be no nourishment.

Nothing will defeat him.

Eternal hunger for perfection destroys all that it touches.

He was born with it. The second son wasn't. And he despises the weaker one for his diluted ambition.

But that's not the only reason for wiping out family restrictions.

"To die of old age in bed, there is no glory. Or pride. Not when we are only recognized and remembered by humans. Other forms of life don't care."

Straightforward phrases stoke his hidden fear.

Of dying disgracefully.  
Forgotten.  
Helpless.  
Weak.

Alone, on another indistinguishable pallet like countless others. Such is dual-edged irony of the vortex; it empowers yet emasculates Purpose at the same time. Reveling in long-buried emotion makes bittersweet enjoyment even more of an oxymoron.

That is why Sasuke has to slay him.  
That is why he warps the heart and mind of one he has shown mercy to.  
That is why when they finally clash, the outcome will fill then drain him.

Age-old chaos of emptiness will be averted.

And the stronger warrior would have won and confirmed his control over a brother's soul as absolute.

_You consciously follow the path I dictate, and you shall do my subconscious bidding even until the end._

Finally, the last remaining Uchiha will perish in self-prolonged tortuous shame and agony of understanding, which his aniki has chosen to engrave in him. And if his strengthened little brother somehow accomplishes it without possessing the ultimate curse of their bloodline, then he will unwittingly receive that gift through irrefutable brotherly love.

Itachi's victory will be complete.

Sasuke will ensure the glorious legacy of one at the pinnacle of power, who destroyed an outstanding bloodline and shattered countless boundaries. Of the S-class nin who ventures where precious few dare to go.

He is woken out of restful musing by the ending of such a masterful and penetrative piece.

The middle string has snapped.

Tempered feelings, suppressed emotions, compressed desires… bundled into one resounding note. This greatly matured lady is as still as he is. By not seeking to understand, somehow that allows them to comprehend the infallible mystery they are to each other.

Respect links the old woman and young man for a moment.

Time to go.

Whirling around soundlessly, he faces a taller person trudging up the grassy slope at this unearthly hour.

Sharp white teeth flash as Hoshigaki Kisame opens his mouth to speak. He is quieted by his more menacing counterpart raising a finger to pale lips, lone digit hovering like a teasing seal on the sensually secretive curve.

Fair of face and dark of eye, a countenance made older by world-weary lines confounds the puzzled missing-nin of the Hidden Village of the Mist. Grudgingly complying with his younger partner, fog-laden air is not breached by their exit until soupy shadows merge with the duo's presence.

"What were you doing, desperate for company?"

Having traveled alongside this infuriatingly reserved fellow criminal for quite a while, the man with serrated cheeks is somewhat flustered at the queer mood his companion is in. It's obvious, for he rarely smiles. Uneasiness is covered up by inquisitive sarcasm.

"Thanking her."

This is definitely unusual and unnerving. Kisame has no idea of what is transpiring within that imperceptible mind. It's all too confusing, and he doesn't dare to ask anyway.

Slicing side by side through darkened woods like fleeting phantasms, Itachi's features are fixed once more in deliberation, devoid of expression.

In the abyss that constitutes his soul, the smile stays.


	2. Relative Definition

**Disclaimers**: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi. I make no money or do any harm from playing with it.

**A/N**: Cutting off the front lock of hair on males, followed by the gift of an eboshi hat is done in a ceremony to signify that the boy has passed out of childhood and is a man.

Anything in Italics denotes conclusive primary thoughts. Secondary, not so important thoughts will be in normal font.

**Relative Definition**

They have cornered the mice of Yoshimasa.

In this gracious hall that has seen over ten generations pass beneath its sturdy arches, the intimacy of such vast space echoes with memories of tradition. Glorious celebrations, pre-nuptial ceremonies, gathered councils for meted punishments… are easily displaced by the duo facing the last of this family.

Frankly, Kisame sees no use in taking out weaklings. But Akatsuki has ordered it, since this clan has unknowingly tried to stamp out their funds from certain daimyos in the country of Earth. Besides, it is too early in the morning for exercise. Not that his partner cares. Damn him. There goes another rare opportunity of sleeping in.

At least the workout has been interesting.

Fearsome eyes that miss nothing only observe his taller counterpart tuck the huge sword back behind him. A bloodthirsty leer laced with jagged teeth is directed at the two cowering against the lone patriarchal seat, less than ten paces from them. Samehada looks suspiciously contented, maybe gloating. For a weapon, that is. The Uchiha can almost swear that if the prickly bundle of bandages swallows any more chakra, it might start burping like a well-fed baby.

Not bad, for a clan whose bloodline limit is the ability to render one's body into a texture and density similar to spectral jelly. Fighting them had almost been like facing an army of ghosts. Able to attack without fear of getting hurt in that state, almost convincing both intruders that such capability is invincible…

Almost.

Using smoke bombs to temporarily blind and slow the charging enemy, Itachi ordered Kisame to nourish Samehada while going on the offensive. Any specially utilised and maintained abilities require chakra to work, after all.

There is no problem once that little hurdle has been crossed.

Distracted thoughts are refocused on the woman and child clinging in horror to one another, especially on the smaller figure. He is approximately six years old. Coated in a veil of sweat, one loose wave of dark hair droops between agitated eyebrows.

This boy will never undergo the ceremony of having his front lock cut, nor receive his eboshi hat.

Nonetheless, plenty of stray dark keratin strands scattered across lovingly polished worn floorboards. Along with countless arms, legs, entrails, misshapen puddles… this particular lot had been a large source for ensuring sufficient power of the hidden village of Stone.

Irises dilated with anger and fright, the trembling female in a loosely belted pink kimono is sizing up the two homicidal maniacs looking down at her. They seem relatively youthful. She knew which one was the leader, after watching the massacre of her kinsmen.

"Shame on you! What would your mother say, knowing how cold-blooded criminals like yourself can kill without consideration!"

Even in the dimness of a few burning rapeseed oil lamps, the only movement comes from flickering tongues of light dancing over stone.

"Nothing. She was resigned to her fate."

_What? Did he mean what I think he just-_

Lukewarm laughter disrupts her frazzled train of thought. This is pure comedy. The man whose cheeks resemble gills is veritably amused by confused shock crossing over that pale, scared face. That earns him a sideways glance from his younger 'friend'.

"Hn. You weren't any better."

"True. But at least I shut mine up before she could go on, like yours."

A light spark of shared camaraderie connects these two for a moment, before everything becomes business-like again. These remaining seeds have to be wiped out before their mission can be concluded.

Salivary glands drying up at the blinding insight of absent conscience she has just glimpsed, nevertheless she presses on.

"So y- you've consigned yourself to loneliness. You deserve the self-inflicted punishment!"

Kisame has never been so entertained in his life. Shaking his spiky-haired head, sharp teeth gleam disconcertingly as the tired missing-nin answers this common misconception.

"Punishment? We're two of a kind. When two **lonely** beings meet in the same circumstances, your argument no longer carries water."

"Don't you… two… even feel g-guilty! Those women were your mothers! They gave birth-"

Faint shuffle of sandaled feet on solid planks of bamboo interrupts vehement railing. One step in front of his accomplice, calm crimson pools do nothing to allay gnawing chill plaguing the two seeking mercy from them.

"Guilty? I'll tell you what it means."

Brushing back a sheaf of ruffled inkiness from his smooth brow, fickle candlelight illuminates bleak scarlet of the ring he wears.

"Only feeble beings don't know what to feel. When faced with nothing, these parasites have the greedy need to fill up the emptiness inside them with something. They clutch at the first straws of emotion that comes to hand. Such desperation will not ever satisfy. Deep down, they know it is pathetic and futile, and detest themselves for it.

"That is Guilt: the cowardly inability to embrace nothing."

_Why is he explaining himself? It's uncannily out of character for him to bother with these scraps of humanity_.

Kisame also wonders if that jaded psyche is mellowing.

However, the former ANBU prodigy of Konoha has a calculative purpose to everything he does.

_He… He… he's a walking husk…an inhuman monster that cannot exist!_

Now the mother is well and truly overwhelmed by mind-numbing terror, as she thinks of her son. Pulling closer the whimpering child who is wracked with the shuddering intensity of suppressing his sobs, the river of tears flows freely once more.

"P-please… at l-least l-let my son g-go… he i-is y-young… k-knows nothing… I-innocent…"

Her plea has violated some personal law concealed deep within the twisted labyrinth of one S-class nin's soul. She is just like his mother.

Unforgivable.

But he will enable the son to forgive his mother, by showing them the way.

"So you would throw him aside without a fight. Damn him to true loneliness, without a single kinship in this world. Cruel mothers."

He is done conversing.

"Separate the two **gently**."

A slight wrinkle furrowing the bluish skin of a rough brow, a frowning Kisame advances and does so without delay. Tearing the blissfully ignorant child forcefully out of maternal arms, he retreats and plumps the boy onto the floor before taking up his former position. Pinpoint pupils skid fleetingly in question towards the impassive, but no less menacing statue by his side.

He is waiting as the fear-stricken heir falls onto his backside, one arm upraised to beg for a halt to reality as the other arm supports his squirming body from flopping on his back. Shreds of unraveled cotton lies loosely laced between outstretched fingers. The anguished woman does not dare to move from her spot.

"Spare her of Samehada."

Even finality in cultured intonation brings a wide smile to thin lips on a cruel visage.

Take one step back.

Studying the troublesome gnat as if he were buying a pomelo at the market, one broad hand closes about a hilt well polished through constant handling. And with lightning swiftness, cleaves the boy into two with the ease of one splitting a log for firewood.

A mangled cry of guttural pain leaves lips that can no longer fight off denial, at the sight of a thick liquid line splattered with wavy splinters lying between two equal halves of the corpse that is her son.

_Nononononononono-_

Transfixed by this nightmare, she forgets the regal figure strolling towards her and who is going down on one knee. Faintly gleaming lids flutter shut, one calloused hand closes about a wrist as frangible as bird bones. Rigid fingers that grasp a dagger hidden beneath bedraggled robes is intercepted.

"However, I will be kind. You'll always be together with your son in these final moments, despite the shallowness of your selfishness."

The other hand grips her chin, turning a salt-dampened face towards his as Itachi opens his eyes, jet-black tri-circling pupils whirling in revealed panels of a red dawn.

Short seconds drip by slowly.

An earsplitting shriek of agony breaks hard-won peace. Wincing at the escalating volume of one maintained note signifying shattered coherence, Kisame just wishes **she** would shut up.

_He's ruined her will to live. No one in this village can undo the effects._

"Hn, and here I was thinking you'd finally relented a little. So much for going soft in your old age."

Rising, black cloak patterned with fiery plumes rustle softly as the ninja who has just carried out Tsukuyomi walks languidly past a grinning jounin- formerly from the hidden village of Mist.

"Others will be here soon."

Nodding briefly, they both vanish.

The concluding note of their completed mission is of a hollow thump, the pleasing sound of one mentally tortured survivor collapsing onto unfeeling floorboards. To be left eternally alone, with the repeated remembrance of an abruptly leaving son?

Asking for kindness from the wrong hands of Fate is an error few will ever get to commit twice as a mistake.


	3. Buried Revelations

When one kind of medusa faces another type of mirror, the effect is unprecedented. In what way will they crack and how deep does the damage go? Destroy surface guises and peer beneath into Epiphany…

**Disclaimers: **Borrowing bits of Naruto, which will be returned with no change.

**A/N: **Random Muses, Relative Definitions… and Buried Revelations: The final side of the triangle, which completes this trilogy about certain aspects of thoughts and beliefs concerning Uchiha Itachi. It's been a self-satisfying mini-thesis, in which lies and truth are challenged. And for once, look at the points to view, not points of view… step out of angles and observe from beyond the corners.

**Setting**: Almost a year since Sasuke abandoned Konoha.

Anything in Italics denotes primary, conclusive thoughts. Secondary thoughts will be in normal font.

**Buried Revelations**

"Never thought I'd say this, but I enjoy the view from peace for once, Itachi-san."

"Rest is always needed, in order to replenish the fuel for war and power."

_Orochimaru's influence is showing. What actually happened in their fight before that sannin left our organization? Better not ask again, or he'll…_

For a country that is lacking in water, the sight of any type of waterways is rare. Hence, to be passing by calm aquamarine liquid is a treat to be savoured. But perceived depth is deceptive, with a strong undercurrent running beneath its mildly reflective surface. Hardly any trees, a clear view as far as the eye can see… they'll come to a crossroads soon. Then he'll have to give up the eye candy, for the path they must take branches away from the river's course. Giving up on idle chitchat and running a damp tongue over pointed enamel tips, alertness notes the short person walking towards them from the opposite direction. What's a child doing out here, unsupervised?

As the relaxed figure meanders closer, world-weary vision takes in that one's features distractedly. This girl looks to be about Sasuke's age. Faces look the same to him, save for a few. The rest are discarded into oblivion after their use is over. No exception here.

"Uchiha-sama. I would like to speak with you."

Respectful, yet high-handed… Kisame frowns. They've stopped moving. So has the other. It looks as if the Sharingan prodigy is exasperated. He has to do the dirty work again, and snarls, "Run for your life, runt. Or be prepared to die."

"All I require is some… information from you. I hope you'll co-operate."

Even as this stranger addresses him, Itachi has been surveying every detail of this five-foot-tall picture in calmness, as he does in any situation. Various patches of smudged dinginess on a simple cream-coloured robe over fitted black pants. Marginally frayed hems. Fully bandaged hands. Worn looking zori. Battered leather pouch probably contains ninja apparel such as kunai and shuriken hanging on a purple belt.

_This one's used to traveling. Mainly for gathering information, I suppose. No sign of other weapons. Used to concealment and blending in, making it hard to conclude any more from her person. Still…_

"He's under no obligation to agree. Neither am I to tolerate your presence."

"It has nothing to do with Akatsuki, only the slaughter of your nearest and dearest."

It will be such a pleasure to hack this one to bits, pacifying the strong surge of venomous loathing streaking through his veins. His partner is still not responding. Wait, that look-

"I'll answer. Only if you can defeat Kisame."

It's not just a condition. It's an inevitable battle for her survival.

"My life for your truth, eh…" is accompanied by a resigned shrug, as hands dangling by her side come together, fingertips loosely touching. Glaring rays of the mid-afternoon sun highlight teeth bared in the hideous parody of a grin as drawing Samehada, Kisame charges.

* * *

So far, it had gone as she predicted. What Ori did not expect was the sheer viciousness of her target's counterpart. Savage, yes. Cruel? Definitely. But ferocious skill coupled with superhuman strength was a jarring shock to her system. She had underestimated this one.

He dispelled her shadow replications so easily, and her first deductions in this fight had been confirmed by the painful sensation of that bandaged weapon tearing across her right arm. The lightning bolts of Raikou Bakuha no Jutsu had been absorbed by that blade. It efficiently sucked chakra from all sides of the covered surfaces, while flaying her doppelgangers. She couldn't allow any more contact. Not that she could worry about it now. Her problem was not drowning. Damn the jutsu Hoshigaki Kisame had used, that pinioned her underwater but above the riverbed without contact, so she was unable to get any leverage from anything.

She would be out of oxygen soon.

_Calm down. Focus. Have to get out of this. Then can berate myself later for taking him too lightly…_

* * *

This presumptuous chit was finished. What a boring fight. Once he had countered Kage Bunshin no Jutsu, he halted her speedy taijutsu (and that ninjutsu) attacks and knocked away shuriken attached with explosive tags. Wounding her with Samehada had caused her to falter and back off momentarily. That sliver of time was all he needed to conclude. Using Suiton Suikoudan no Jutsu to strike the enemy into the water, he used a slight modification to hold her there.

_Facing the direction of the current flow should greatly impact on the ability to think and add to panic. I left your arms and legs free so you can struggle hopelessly, just before you die…_

* * *

One could see the practically solidified torrent of water that kept her firmly in place. She should have rested after all that journeying, to regain more stamina before going after them. Impatience might be her downfall after all. Caution must be exercised in future events.

_Focus!_

Resisting the urge to panic and choke was difficult. Sounds would have no effect on this watery cage. Her musical instrument would only prolong the fight and with such diminished chakra, it was detrimental to her. It was a gamble. An overgrown weapon that gradually consumes chakra from all angles indeed…

_Summoning it will help me break free and bolster my speed, which is all I need to counterattack. Hopefully that will add enough advantage to the element of surprise and end this battle._

Ignoring searing pain in her right arm, she kept both eyes tightly closed. Swiftly tearing off white bandages covering the left upper limb, slim fingers bent as if poised to grip something cylindrical-shaped. Carefully palming a small sharp needle in her right hand, she relaxed further. Chakra began to flow, generating and gathering in her left hand.

* * *

"Just a little longer, to be sure."

There was no reply from his shorter comrade, who was no longer watching the river like him, but was looking in the direction of their destination.

A mild tingle ran through his battle-heated blood. It had slackened severely.

Translucent liquid burst in all directions from the gurgling surface, as his victim shot out of its watery depths. Teeth gritted, absolute fury blanketing coal-black eyes, and in her hand-

What is- He hefted up his primary weapon once more in reflexive defense, as Itachi turned to see what his partner was staring at.

_Chakra? Extremely concentrated- Kisame, don't-_

Glowing gray mist sharpened into sizzling silver, narrowed vengeance was angled to meet one definite point on that wretched block of white wrappings. Automatically swinging Samehada to block this unforeseen assault resulted in- Before any one of them could react further, both blades collided.

The explosion was deafening. Not to mention blinding.

* * *

After throwing it with a deft flick of the right wrist, buffeting force of the aftershock sent her skidding backwards, leaving marked furrows in loose soil. She managed to stop herself at the very edge of the riverbank. Ori was not in the mood for a second dunking. Much greater effort was exerted to retain the sword, as smoke and dust cleared to help her confirm the outcome of **that **action.

All that remains of the former shinobi-gatana's treasure lies scattered in tiny flakes on gritty soil.

Harshly sucking in deep mouthfuls of life-giving air, it made the left side of her ribs hurt. A moment longer, and then she'd try to stand.

A cold, baleful gaze remained on the drenched figure, emphasised by unceasing dripping of water into surrounding earth. Keeping his attention on the girl -who is breathing raggedly in between uneven panting and is down on one knee- her somewhat burnt left hand was tightly clutching a weapon that slowly diminished into blankness. Stepping backwards gracefully, eventually he was by Kisame's side. The missing-nin was unconscious, probably the result of absorbing the full force of that last maneuver.

_That odd technique and manner of chakra being utilised… she must be from the Country of Lightning._

Going down on his knees, lifting up and carefully arranging his partner, Kisame's heavier body droops about unyielding shoulders. Standing up, he stares at the adolescent who was rising slowly to her feet. After another long moment, Itachi strides off in the direction of the nearest forest he can remember. It is better than waiting for an obligation he now has to honour, which was wearily running to a bush not too far off to retrieve a neat bundle before going after him.

He hated delays. And detours.

* * *

A small fire has been stoked into fierceness, even though it's not necessary. Although shadows have lengthened, the sun has not yet set.

This temporary bandage will suffice until she is far away enough from them later. Being reluctant to breach the barrier of silence between them, yet every small motion he makes signifies a deliberate attempt at ignoring her presence. Ori resents that as much as wringing out excess water from her sodden clothes.

"I'll try and keep it short. Why did you kill those in your clan?"

No answer.

"Didn't you have everything? Favoured heir; secure in position, power and talent… or…"

Wondering why his fellow Akatsuki member hasn't woken up yet, her objective is also studying the intricate design covering the whole of this inquisitor's left hand from the corner of his eyes.

"It would be a terrible way of dying. Stagnating on your hoisted pedestal, and limited by family."

Nothing new or unusual so far. This one carries herself with a self-assured mix of confidence and authority. There's no particular adornment that she wears. Everything is plain, devoid of frivolity. The tattoo is comprised of varying dips, swirls and dots he cannot understand, but looking at it for too long… brown complex patterns seems to coil and weave lazily.

Sensing his surveillance on that portion of her anatomy, fingers reach into her bundle and take out some bandages. She begins speedily winding cream-coloured strips about the exposed hand while continuing with, "That is why I need to know about this from someone who's experienced it firsthand. To understand whether it's worth breaking free of such cumbersome constraints."

Now she has his attention. Noting wavering purpose in otherwise expressionless eyes, he is intrigued but does not hesitate to show his irritation.

"You have a lot to hide, because you have a lot to lose. That symbol on your left hand not only demarcates power, but the status you hold in your clan. It's useless to pretend."

Done with restoring her 'glove' while slightly shaken by his statement, shadowy pupils stare into crimson shutters topped with three flame-shaped whorls.

"If you can't make the decision for yourself, don't even bother trying. Go back to the hidden village of Cloud."

Slight widening of surprised pupils is accompanied by an almost inaudible but annoyed sigh as she replies. "Your deed gave me an idea. I have aspirations, but I need inspiration. Cocooned by the clan, my potential is being repressed. Then I saw the light. Outcasts, mourners, failures… they were my answer.

"The unforgettable torment they experience is intense, but that makes them want to improve on their lot in life. Now I am stuck on a plateau in my training. In order to advance, I have to create a sensation… an **inspiration** to rival such feeling. Not just any ordinary kind, but one so traumatic as to greatly spur me on for the rest of my life, however short or long it may be. The only option seems to be guilt-ridden pain. After all, what other choice do I have? Overprotected…"

A humourless snicker escapes closed lips.

"You should know what I speak of. I will never be content with what I have. Can you?"

He wonders if he's picked up a faulty clone. She cannot fathom what he is. Arrogant, pretentious brat!

"People are strange. My cousin, the present leader always tells me: You are truly strong if you fight for those you cherish, but not for yourself."

Yes. He's heard that before from deceased parents.

"I agree. Hence every duel, every battle, every bit of improvement is dedicated to the one who will slay me someday. I do not think about the face, nor can I guess the identity but this I do know: That unknown entity will receive all my love and hate. I will only be satisfied dying at the hands of someone better than me."

So that is her ultimate goal. If Sasuke should fail to live up to his standards- Her mindset is starting to rouse interest. But is she telling him the complete truth?

Reaching into her bundle again, she draws out a small flask and a greaseproof paper-wrapped package. Opening it up, the cloud-nin takes out a piece of beef jerky. Offering it to the solemn man who declines politely, she tucks it back into the bundle and unscrews the cap for a drink.

"If you wish to copy me, then you are unoriginal and uninspiring."

Taking a long dram before recapping it, she looks back at him once more. Her body language mirrors his, then she leans forward slightly with the faintest hint of amusement.

"You only tried to destroy your clan. I have much bigger intentions. Unlike you, I don't intend to leave behind any signs of failure."

A chill skitters down his spine. Dim light in those peaceful eyes look sane. She is very different from warmth of anger douses unease and masks his discomfort.

"You'll be exiled; labeled 'evil' and reviled."

"Don't go mellow on me now, Uchiha-sama. The only thing that matters is ensuring continuous increase in skill and power. Evil… I'll tell you what it means."

Thought of the steep challenge ahead encompassing the entire village curdles her insides with near-breathless excitement. _Hachi-niisan…you will be the tip of the melting iceberg. _

"Those who call themselves good, label everyone else who is different as evil. So if you disagree with me, I can call you evil and regard myself as good, can't I? And vice versa. But for what we are or will be? Those we kill would have ensured the deaths of others. Sacrificing one for the good of many… Missing-nins are the unacknowledged balancing scales, the unsung heroes of all shinobi. Being too good is only completing the circle towards evil, unless there is a counterpoint. How then, would one truly define good or evil?"

Rendering him completely speechless in the convoluted, erratic remnants of her reasoning...

Putting the packet of dried meat back into her organized bundle, she ties the four ends together, knotting it firmly and sighs. "Then again, nobody's ever won this argument with me, on the rare occasion when it's brought up."

A childish puckering of pale lips forms a moue of distaste or disgust.

"Probably because they didn't live long enough."

The air has grown cooler, making her shiver slightly. She must change out soon into dry clothes or risk illness.

Shaken back into his senses once more, he considers killing this one for pestering him. Or at least that's the reason Itachi gives himself.

Pulling herself up to stand, holding the pack of possessions gently in one hand, a slender figure turns her back on the other individual in this quiet clearing. A playful breeze ruffles raven hair bound back in a loose ponytail. It also shuffles black wispy strands tipped with grey.

"You could kill me now. However, your partner was wounded with a poisoned needle. You might not care about his life, but I reckon Akatsuki would have a hard time finding a suitable replacement that you all can agree on, ne?"

Now he is seething inwardly. Realizing that bluish skin has a tinge of unhealthy grey and is dotted with sweat-

She could deduce that channeling excessive energy into Samehada at only one point would cause the weapon to overload on chakra too fast and explode. Chances are, she'd planned to fight Kisame and anticipated his response. This one weaves more strategies and traps than a spider. Even now, she still dictates the movement of pieces on the board… He must wait for her next step. Grudgingly admitting in silence that her ability to collect and use information is as skilled as the ploy(s) she has executed, it only hardens and magnifies his dislike. Icy daggers of visual wrath sink into the petite female who stands firmly in her spot.

"You have your fate to succumb to. I have my destiny to pursue."

Both have measured each other, possibly found something lacking, and simultaneously wish never to encounter the other again.

"So please answer my one honest inquiry to you: Is the agony worth it?" A dash of innocent uncertainty hovers in the timbre verging on maturity.

No answer is forthcoming, for the time it takes a dragonfly to flap its wings.

"Yes."

"Liar."

Does she suspect the truth? She's affectionately and assiduously calling his bluff in another context, and he understands what she's referring to. It creates a queer painful bond of mutually respectful bittersweet intimacy, lasting for a fickle moment in this meeting.

Turning her head slightly to the left, she tosses a tiny box over that shoulder. The action is an outlet for relief she does not display. She does not know if she is disappointed or satisfied. She is getting better at gambling. Soon she will not have to worry about her fear towards this man. It sails through the air to land untouched at his feet. Sensing unsettling intensity in unblinking eyes that she does not wish to challenge or understand, bandaged hands hastily form the required seals at the same time.

He is left alone with an unconscious friend once more.

There is much to ponder, but there are more pressing matters to attend to first.

The only light comes from the fire. Scanning exposed flesh for the incredibly fine needle, he finds it embedded in that stout neck. All vital tissues have been avoided. Shifting, he accommodates Kisame's head in his lap. Using chakra to dislodge and yank the offensive metal sliver out, he opens the lid on this small wooden container, emptying the single lime-green pill present onto a deeply lined palm. Nimbly picking it up between two fingers, the other free hand reaches out to pick up an abandoned flask. Slipping the antidote between dry lips, Itachi presses certain points on that throat, following it up with a dosage of water to ensure he swallows.

Then easing himself away from his partner, he moves to the other side of the campfire.

Thinking back, it's as if he's raised the curtain on a distorted mirror image, and he doesn't have words for what he's seen.

Sitting back down, he brings both knees up against his chest, arms hugging toned muscle and cool flesh. Gazing into passive reddish-orange flames, the thick cloak he wears is insignificant at this point. Dense shadows blend with thick foliage to mask ruminating emotion.

And he waits for him to wake up.

_**Owari

* * *

**_

_**A/N:**_ I hope I made the OC teenager Ori annoying enough, as she is still growing. _**  
**_


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